


Nesting

by missbeizy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, RPF, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 15:47:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5253989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beach house porn!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nesting

**Author's Note:**

> Will has been a beach bunny since he moved to California (and really, he always had aspirations, just not the confidence to back them up).  Chris doesn't take to the beach naturally, though he's come to appreciate it as he has sculpted his body into what he wants it to be, and especially after Cooper, and even more so once he realized they always seemed to find relative privacy in Ventura.

"I like it," he says, when they start looking at beach houses, because the cost of rentals is so high they might as well buy something and call it a day. "I like it fifty percent in reality and fifty percent in theory.  Does that make sense?"

"To crazy people."

That smirk, deepening his dimples and lighting his eyes, makes Will's pulse stutter and his brain jolt—connection, familiarity, knowing. "So you get me."

"Sure thing."

 

*

 

It starts out as a joke, born of laziness and finished by boxes, the nest at the front of the beach house.

Its first inhabitant is a blanket they've been meaning to part with, one that Cooper has dragged through the backyard one too many times, with a fray at its bottom right corner Chris has tugged and knotted into hopelessness.  But Will is attached to it—it was under them the first time they fucked on Chris's couch, and folded at the foot of the bed the first time Will laid Chris out and took him apart and the word "fucked" failed to express the length and breadth of what they were doing together.  It's been Brian's tent and Chris's security blanket and Will's lap covering during many day-long editing sessions on the couch, their new house all to himself and peace settling around him like an embrace.

The first time they spend a weekend at the beach house, Will puts the blanket in the foyer by the front windows so they can pile up comfortably with Brian and Cooper.  They eat Asian/American fusion sushi takeout from the place they love in town.  Will sneaks bites of gyoza to Cooper when Chris isn't looking or is flitting into the other rooms to check on things—he rarely relaxes in new situations, wanting to make sure everything is exactly as promised or as he expects it to be.

They intend to fully furnish and decorate the house, they really do, but it's slow going.  

After the blanket there's the two pillows they keep in the backseat of Will's car—for reasons both obvious and separately mundane.  And then there's the beanbag chair Karen gives them, a relic from Chris's childhood she's been meaning to get rid of for a long time.

"Oh my god, remember these chairs?" Chris flops onto it enthusiastically.

They buy more beanbags because Chris develops a brief but intense  _thing_  after that, but only the gifted one survives the curiosity of a new puppy and a cranky cat (the living room becomes a pseudo-Winter Wonderland one not-so-glorious weekend), and Will can't help but feel it deserves a place in the nest.

Chris asks him when the hell they named this thing when he refers to it with a capital N, and Will shrugs and adds a sleeping bag with a busted zipper they were going to throw away to the foundation.

They prop up a spare set of folding tables next to the nest.  Will puts his old MacBook there when he gets a new one, leaving it loaded with music they can listen to while they lounge.  Chris fills a corner with dog and cat toys, several books he keeps meaning to read for both pleasure and research, and a snowglobe with an alligator in it that Will's grandma gave them.

"It's her way of saying she approves," Will explained.

Chris confessed he thought it was weird, but took it happily.

Piece by piece, the nest accidentally becomes their spot in the new house, even after they get around to furnishing and decorating.

"We should probably put all that away," Will says, out of the blue, one weekend.  

He doesn't want to, really. He just assumes its existence is irritating Chris—it's not really Chris's style, and he's surprised Chris has let it live this long.

Chris surprises him by replying, "Eh, leave it for now."

He warms at the knowledge that Chris doesn't mind.

 

*

 

When the weather is finally perfect for the beach, going there for days at a stretch becomes a sublime pleasure.  Most of the time they take the babies, but sometimes Chris has additional travel plans or meetings bracketing the time off and they can't always manage it.

They're both night owls, but Will is more likely to wake himself up with a run on the beach, whereas Chris prefers to exercise later, and indoors if possible, unless they're going for something more challenging and time-consuming, like a hike.

Will comes back from a run one Saturday morning when they are alone in the house, baked by the sun, sand-streaked and a little sweaty.  Chris is drinking Chai sitting in the center of the nest.  He stands in the doorway, puts his keys and phone down and watches Chris, waits for him to look up and smile and do that adorably unsubtle head-to-toe appraisal thing he never realizes he's doing.  Will loves that he still does that, even after almost three years.

"Nice out?" Chris asks.

"Gorgeous."

Chris wets his lips.

Will proceeds to unintentionally donate a pair of running shorts to the nest.

 

*

 

Chris finds Will standing by the front windows late one morning, an arm braced against the frame, sunlight streaming in through the glass.  His hair is morning-wild, and he hasn't shaved.  His body is a shade darker than it was on Thursday when they arrived. His gray boxer briefs ride low on his hips, hugging tight, slender thighs and a soft belly that bleeds into a torso which widens and thickens at his shoulders in a way that makes Chris's dick twitch and always has.  

Chris steps up behind him, wraps his arms around him, slides one across his big pecs and the other down to gently cup his cock through his underwear, and kisses the back of his neck. Chris loves leaning into his big, strong, sun-warmed frame.  Loves everything about the way their bodies fit together, about how safe and excited Will makes him feel, even half-asleep like this, so far away from everything else.

He's running off of two hours of fitful sleep and the combined jittery feeling that results from twenty minutes of emails that were exciting as well as anxiety-inducing.  He shouldn't've checked them—it's their time away, after all—but he can't help it.  He intends to redirect that path right now, though.

"Morning, you," Will drawls, tugging the arm Chris has around him closer.

Chris wraps his hand around Will's cock and strokes it straight, up to the waistband of his underwear. "Hey."

Will hums. "Plans?"

"Oh, yeah."

Will laughs. "I meant—"

"I know what you meant." Chris pets him, even and gently-paced, until he's shifting, bracing his weight evenly between his legs and rocking his hips a little, accepting the touch.  He kisses behind Will's ear, and lowers his voice while thumbing the tip of his cock. "Come to bed."

"So you do have plans."

Chris just smiles, and leads him—both literally and figuratively—by his dick, all the way to the bedroom.  He pushes Will onto the bed and kneels between his legs, bends down to mouth the shape of him from top to bottom, leaving dark patches of saliva behind as he goes.  He presses the clothed head between his teeth, hard enough to make Will feel it but not flinch away from it, before closing his mouth around it and sucking. He savors the jolt of Will's hips and the ripple of the muscles across his belly and chest.

Will puts one hand in his hair as he tugs his underwear down, licking his cock as it's revealed, inch by gloriously thick inch, until he's nosing Will's balls.  He takes his time as they often don't, making Will wait for his mouth and then giving him every bit of it once he surrenders, breathing huffily through his nose and drooling out of the corners of his mouth and down his chin as he bobs up and down on the shaft.  Will lets his other hand join the first and Chris makes a soft, wanting noise, and without having to ask Will begins carefully fucking his mouth. Every muscle is on display.  Every bit of his strength is present, hovering behind the fingers twisting in Chris's thick hair.

When Chris needs to ease his aching jaw he pulls off and Will lets go.  Chris doesn't want to stop completely, so he goes lower, cupping Will's balls and lifting them, kissing beneath them.  Will's legs bend, fold, and fall back, and pleasure rushes through Chris in waves at the sight of Will giving over.

"Fuck," Will says. "Fuck, yeah."

Chris spreads him open with two thumbs, kisses him there before he can overthink it, groans at the salty-thick taste, and the next kiss is open-mouthed, and the next is full of tongue, and the next is both, Will whimpering and spreading his legs and wrapping his own hand around his cock.  Chris's mused hair and red-over-white cheeks and friction-swollen lips between Will's cheeks, the wet, smacking noise of it, the stressed breathing through his nose, how determined he is—

It gets Chris off as much as it does Will, and they're both aware of that.

Chris licks inside, shivering at the intimate give of Will's body, at the elastic clench of his ass, and barely has a rhythm going before Will's fist begins to falter in between bouts of flight.

"S-shit, sorry."

"Mm?" Chris asks, in between hungry, suckling kisses over that gorgeous hole.

"Too close."

Chris pulls back a little, kisses his cheeks, his balls, the inside of his thighs, then pushes against the back of his knees, pressing them higher, closer to his chest. "So come. Doesn't mean I'm gonna stop."

"Oh,  _fuck_."

He puts his tongue back in Will's ass, and doesn't stop, not even when Will cries out and comes all over himself, not even when his cock shrinks and his skin grows sweaty and he just lies there, breathing heavily and moaning with Chris's tongue buried as deeply as it physically can be.

Chris goes until his jaw and neck muscles start screaming, and even then he gives up reluctantly, licking and kissing in retreat, Will a shivering mess on the bed.

He savors the thrill of execution and accomplishment.

 

*

 

It takes Will about four trips and one rainy Sunday to get Chris on the patio out back.  

The weather is not as warm as it usually is, and this morning it's downright cool.  They're cuddled together on a lounge chair—until Chris's ass decides to find a home on his lap, and from then on it's less a cuddle and more a stalemate.  Or perhaps simply a battle of very primitive wills.

Chris is salty-sandy and relaxed from their morning walk on the quiet beach.  Behind the house, there's not a soul in sight—the weather hasn't invited much traffic—and Will fetched the blanket from the nest, which is now providing excellent cover for his hands roaming Chris's sand-gritty skin. He licks salt residue from Chris's bare back as he makes his case, kneading the muscles of Chris's thighs.

Chris's breathing quickens and then deepens, and it's only when he rasps, "We're outside," that Will realizes how far gone they both are.  That tight, round ass grinding against his dick is driving him nuts.  He rocks forward, biting down on Chris's shoulder blade.

"Come on." Will strokes everywhere but where he wants to, mapping Chris's thighs and hips and belly.  He knows Chris is hard, tenting his shorts, pressing painfully against the fabric, but he wants to hear it, wants Chris to give in.  He slots his bulge between Chris's cheeks and thrusts. "Come on."

"F-fuck," Chris moans.

He kisses up the back of Chris's neck, licks at the faint, salty sweat buried in the roots of the hair there, the combined scent of  _ocean_ and  _man_  sending primal urgency rushing through his body.  Chris is hot and smooth and strong under the blankets, squirming against him, driving his clenching, dry hole against Will's bulge through two layers of clothing.

"If you want to fuck me we're going inside," Chris blurts, breathlessly and all at once.

Will hooks his thumbs on the waistband of Chris's shorts and drags them down, shivering at the feel of that perfect ass, soft-over-hard, bleeding heat through his own shorts.  He flattens his palm down the length of Chris's throbbing cock.  He thinks about the lubricant stored beneath the lounge chair and, secondarily, Chris's eyes fixed on the yard, on the open air, on the reality that anyone could see them, anyone could hear them, hear  _him_  whining for cock like an animal in heat, if they were close enough.

Will pops the cap on the lubricant tube with one hand, and slides the other into Chris's shorts. "Or we could not."

This touch seems to shatter Chris's resolve—he bucks and makes a high-pitched noise and his ass clenches up around the jut of Will's clothed dick, shivering and tightening, and Will momentarily forgets to inhale.  He tugs the blanket higher around them, and puts his lubricant-filled palm underneath.

"Oh, god," Chris groans.  

Will holds him open with his dry hand. "Yeah?"

"Fuck."

"Yeah, you want that?" Will pushes his cock into the back of Chris's thigh. "Right here, out here, you want my cock?"

The movement of their bodies is frantic but equally restrained, corded up muscle and the tricky slip of fingers working with little space but quite a lot of caution.  Having Chris desperate for him is a rush but also a gift, made even sweeter by the promise of mutual pleasure to come.

"Fuck, okay.   _Fuck_. Fuck me, just—" Chris isn't big on fingers for prep, so Will keeps it brief, two more than enough, twisting and bending awkwardly to meet the angle, and then when he swivels the other way and presses in and down, he earns a sharp but quickly stifled whimper. "No, no, I'll come too fast."

Almost-warm, salty sea air whips around them, sending the patio plants into a frenzy as Chris spreads his legs, puts one foot down on the concrete on either side of the chair, his bottom lip bitten in, and reaches back to tug Will's shorts down, one pale, trembling hand seeking his cock.  The sight is so much that it makes Will's cock jerk right where it wants to go. Chris watches over his shoulder, watches Will spread him open, withdraw his fingers, get more lubricant, make his dick gleam with it before letting Chris take it and guide it.

"Shit," Will says. "Yeah.  Yeah, sit down.  Sit down on it, fuck." When Chris is whimpering around the head, hot and tight, Will puts a hand on his waist, loses momentary inhibition, blurts, "Come on. You can take it all."

Chris sinks down slowly, his hole flushed dark and wet, mouthing down around Will's cock until the crisp brown of his pubic hair is snug against that smooth, white ass.

"Oh my god, don't—go too fast, anyone could tell—"

Will puts his other hand on Chris's waist and rolls his hips. "Don't worry.  Just relax."

" _Will_ —"

Will encourages his ass down and then up, sets the rhythm and shares it, barely able to draw reliable breath as Chris's ass yields, as his thighs clench and his back bends and his head tips and he's  _full_ , his hands strangling the lounge's arms beneath the blanket, his shorts caught on the underside of his jiggling cheeks.  Will fucks him hard and shallow, savoring every moan and whimper, the slap of his bouncing erection, the snug, unforgiving clasp of his ass around every inch of his dick.  

Chris loses himself in it, as he has so marvelously learned to do with Will, breathing and moving and striving for himself as much as his partner, but a part of him is fixed on their surroundings, as well.  He's shaky, trying not to be obvious about it but obviously getting off on being fucked outside.

Will lets him do the work, holds on to his tiny waist and sloped hips and round ass and admires this gorgeous boy taking it and loving it, especially here, risking discovery, risking eyes on them, the danger shivering through his body like a fever, just on the right side of too much.

It's knowing Chris's limits and being trusted to play with them that turns Will on the most.

Chris isn't wordy during sex, and he certainly wouldn't be out here in the open—but finally, he fails to suppress a high-pitched whine, and Will slows down, backs his dick out and then in again, slowly, deeply.

" _Yeah_." He pulls Chris down onto him. "Yeah, come. Come on my dick."

He watches Chris jerking off rapidly, watches the tick of muscles in his bicep and forearm, watches his whole torso quake, watches his upswept hair tremble, and then his ribs expand and contract quickly, and feels Chris's ass tighten up around him before he comes in his own hand, whimpering and panting.

"Holy shit," Chris rasps, easing down again, his cheeks hugging Will's cock.

"Oh my god, that was so hot."

"Don't come inside. Just—"

Will needs to come so badly that he doesn't care how precisely he does so.  He slides out of Chris and into his own hand, parts the folds of the blanket so he can watch Chris crouched over him, fucked red and open, his hole slack, waiting for it.  It's more than enough to get him there.  He comes with a groan, painting as much milky skin as he can.  He pushes back inside after the orgasm crests, stroking the pulsing shaft of his cock, then pulls out, smearing come across Chris's rim with the tip.

They pull their shorts up, and Chris uses the blanket to clean the worst of the splatter.

Will thinks they should probably keep that one out of the nest rotation until after laundry day.

 

*

 

After sufficiently building the nest up again, they spend an evening in it drinking and making out, and Chris mentions frottage and Will says, "I never got that."

Diet Coke halfway to his mouth, Chris goes still. "Seriously?"

"Seems kind of pointless?  I mean why bother when you can just do it?"

"I dunno.  It can be fun, especially if like—that's about as close as you want to get."

Will leans his chin on a stuffed penguin that's fallen off of Cooper's toy pile. "Huh."

Which is how they end up spending the last morning of that weekend plastered together in the nest in a pool of morning sunlight, smelling like salt water and sun-warmed skin as Will writhes on top of Chris, their bellies a mess of lubricant and dried, scant precome, Chris's collarbone a staggered line of bruises flowering beneath Will's mouth.

"This is," Will pants, "very—nice.  But slow."

"That's the point." Chris's flailing calf whacks a folding table, nearly turning it over. " _Shit_ , fuck, sorry, my—shit, just, move your leg?"

It's actually a bit of a comedy, but once they move past positioning and muscle clamps, Chris gets their cocks together just right, some of the lubricant dries, returning blessed and necessary friction, and Will sits up on his forearms over Chris's body to watch that beautiful, trademark flush flood his cheeks and creep down, down, down. Being together like this allows him to really enjoy little things like that.  He's not sure about there being a lack of intimacy here—if anything, they're closer than they usually are.

The same realization is mirrored in Chris's expression, he thinks.

Things take a shuddering, intense turn there, their cocks rubbing shaft to shaft, sensitive tips squeezed and knocked between heaving bellies.  It sneaks up on Will faster than he expects it to (this kind of thing only appealed to him when he was young enough to go off fast from rubbing against another guy, especially when he couldn't expect much more)—he exhales shakily and presses their lips together and comes, sluggishly but for longer than usual, spilling thick all over Chris's stomach and cock.

"Oh, shit.  Oh  _shit_ ," Chris rasps, looking down at it, and follows him, the swollen, gaping slit at the head of his cock spurting short, little arcs between them, Will driving his softening cock through the mess.

Will laughs, burying his face in Chris's neck. "Okay.  That was—"

"A test of the structural integrity of the Nest."

"I was going to say 'very nice', but that, too."

Messy and flushed, Chris reaches up to touch his face. "Very nice."

Will smiles, turns to kiss at his fingertips. "I think we should keep it."

"No shit, we already signed the papers."

"I meant this little—spot."

"Oh." Chris's forehead wrinkles. "It's kind of an eyesore."

An eyesore that's grown on them both.

Will pouts.

Chris makes the face. " _Ugh_."

Will pouts harder.

"Damnit."

Will pouts the  _hardest_. "Maybe?"

Chris narrows his eyes. "Maybe."

Which means a yes is soon to follow.


End file.
